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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage;

A ROMAUNT. (1)

L'univers est une espèce de livre dont on n'a lu que la première page quand on n'a vu que son pays. J'en ai feuilleté un assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouvées également mauvaises. Cet examen ne m'a point éte infructueux. Je haïssais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai vecu, m'ont réconcilié avec elle. Quand je n'aurais tiré d'autre bénéfice de mes voyages que celui-là, je n'en regretterais ni les frais ni les fatigues.—Le Cosmopolite. (2)

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PREFACE

TO THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS.

THE following poem was written, for the most part, amidst the scenes which it attempts to describe. It was begun in Albania; and the parts relative to Spain and Portugal were composed from the author's observations in those countries. Thus much it may be necessary to state for the correctness of the descriptions. The scenes attempted to be sketched are in Spain, Portugal, Epirus, Acarnania, and Greece. There, for the present, the poem stops: its reception will determine whether the author may venture to conduct his readers to the capital of the East, through lonia and Phrygia; these two cantos are merely experimental.

(1) This noble composition was begun in 1809, and ended in 1818. The first canto was commenced, at Joannina in Albania, on the 31st of October, 1809; and the second was finished on the 28th of March, in the succeeding year, at Smyrna. These two Cantos, after having received numberless corrections and additions in their progress through the press, were first published in London in March, 1812, and immediately placed their author on a level with the very highest names of his age. The impression they created was more uniform, decisive, and triumphant, than any that had been witnessed in this country for at least two generations. "I awoke one morning," he says, "and found myself famous." In truth, he had fixed himself, at a single bound, on a summit, such as no English poet had ever before attained, but after a long succession of painful and comparatively neglected efforts. Those who wish to analyse, with critical accuracy, the progress of Lord Byron in his art, must, of course, interpose their study of various minor pieces, between their perusal of the first and second Cantos of Childe Harold, and that of the third; which was finished at Diodati, near Geneva, in July, 1816, and records the author's mental experiences during his perambulations of the Netherlands, the Rhine country, and Switzerland, in that and the two preceding months-the poetical autobiography of, perhaps, the most melancholy period of his not less melancholy than glorious life,—that in which the wounds of domestic misery, that had driven him from his native land, were yet green, and bleeding at the touch. This Canto was published by itself, in August, 1816; and, notwithstanding at once the proverbial hazard of continuations, and the obloquy which envious exaggeration had at the time attached to Lord Byron's name, was all but univer

The two first cautos of Childe Harold were completed at the bouse of the Consul-General, Smyana. The memorandum prefixed to his original manuscript is as follows:

Byron, Joannina, in Albania. Begun October 31, 1809, concluded Canto 2, Smyrna, March 28th, 1810. Byron."

A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of giving some connection to the piece; which, however, makes no pretension to regularity. It has been suggested to me by friends, on whose opinions I set a high value, that in this fictitious character, "Childe Harold," I may incur the suspicion of having intended some real personage: this I beg leave, once for all, to disclaim-Harold is the child of imagination, for the purpose I have stated. In some very trivial particulars and those merely local, there might be grounds, for such a notion; but in the main points, I should hope, none whatever.

It is almost superfluous to mention that the appellation" Childe," as "Childe Waters," ""Childe Childers," etc. is used as more consonant with the old structure of versification which I have adopted. The "Good Night," in the beginning of the first

sally admitted to have more than sustained the elevation of the original flight of Childe Harold. A just and generous article, by Sir Walter Scott, in the Quarterly Review, not only silenced the few cavillers who had ventured to challenge the inspiration of this magnificent Canto, but had a more powerful influence than Lord Byron, gratefully as he acknowledged it, seems to have been aware of, in rebuking the harsh prejudices which had unfortunately gathered about some essential points of his personal cha

racter.

The fourth and by far the longest Canto, in itself no doubt the grandest exertion of Lord Byron's genius, appears to have occupied the nearly undivided labour of half a year. It was begun at Venice, in June, 1817, and finished in the same city, in January, 1818; and being shortly afterwards published in London, carried the Author's fame to the utmost height it ever reached. It is at once the most flowing, the most energetic, and the most solemn of all his pieces; and would of itself sufficiently justify the taste of the surviving affection that dictated for the sole inscription of his tombstone, Here lies the Author of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage."

The original MS. has furnished many varia lectiones, which may probably be interesting to an extensive class of the Poet's readers. One, and the most important, in order to avoid repetitions on the margin, we mention once for all here: in the first draught of the opening Cantos, the here is uniformly “ Childe Burun.”

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Some splendid fragments, which the author never worked into the texture of his piece, will also be found in the notes to this edition; nor, after the lapse of more than twenty years, will any one,presumed, complain that we have printed in like manner certain stanzas, which Lord Byron was induced to withhold from the public, only by tenderness for the feelings of individuals now beyond the reach of satire.-E.

(2) Par M. de Montbron, published at Paris, 1798.

canto, was suggested by "Lord Maxwell's Good were the most profligate of all possible centuries. Night," in the Border Minstrelsy, edited by Those who have any doubts on this subject may Mr. Scott. consult Sainte-Palaye, passim, and more particu

With the different poems which have been pub-larly vol. ii. p. 69. (2) The vows of chivalry were Iblished on Spanish subjects, there may be found some slight coincidence in the first part, which treats of the peninsula, but it can only be casual; as, with the exception of a few concluding stanzas, the whole of this poem was written in the Levant. The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most successful poets, admits of every variety. Dr. Beattie makes the following observation:-"Not long ago, I began a poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in which I propose to give full scope to my inclination, and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or satirical, as the humour strikes me; for, if I mistake not, the measure which I have adopted admits equally of all these kinds of composition." (1) Strengthened in my opinion by such authority, and by the example of some in the highest order of Italian poets, I shall make no apology for attempts at similar variations in the following composition; satisfied that, if they are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the execution, rather than in the design sanctioned by the practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie.

LONDON, February, 1812.

ADDITION TO THE PREFACE.

no better kept than any other vows whatsoever; and the songs of the Troubadours were not more decent, and certainly were much less refined, than those of Ovid. The " cours d'amour, parlemens d'amour, ou de courtoisie et de gentillesse," had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Roland on the same subject with Sainte-Palaye. Whatever other objection may be urged to that most unamiable personage Childe Harold, he was so far perfectly knightly in his attributes-" No waiter, but a knight templar." (3) By the by, I fear that Sir Tristrem and Sir Lancelot were no better than they should be, although very poetical personages and true knights sans peur," though not "sans reproche." If the story of the institution of the "Garter" be not a fable, the knights of that order have for several centuries borne the badge of a countess of Salisbury, of indifferent memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not have regretted that its days are over, though Marie-Antoinette was quite as chaste as most of those in whose honours lances were shivered, and knights unhorsed.

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Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir Joseph Banks (the most chaste and celebrated of ancient and modern times), few exceptions will be found to this statement; and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages.

I HAVE now waited till almost all our periodical I now leave" Childe Harold" to live his day, journals have distributed their usual portion of cri- such as he is; it had been more agreeable, and certicism. To the justice of the generality of their cri- tainly more easy, to have drawn an amiable chaticisms I have nothing to object: it would ill become racter. It had been easy to varnish over his faults, me to quarrel with their very slight degree of cen- to make him do more and express less; but he never sure, when, perhaps, if they had been less kind, was intended as an example, further than to show, they had been more candid. Returning, therefore, that early perversion of mind and morals leads to to all and each my best thanks for their liberality, satiety of past pleasures and disappointment in on one point alone shall I venture an observation. new ones, and that even the beauties of nature, and Amongst the many objections justly urged to the the stimulus of travel (except ambition, the most very indifferent character of the "vagrant Childe" powerful of all excitements) are lost on a soul so (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the con- constituted, or rather misdirected. Had I protrary, I still maintain to be a fictitious personage), it ceeded with the poem, this character would have has been stated that, besides the anachronism, he is deepened as he drew to the close; for the outline very unknightly, as the times of the knights were which I once meant to fill up for him was, with times of love, honour, and so forth. Now, it so some exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timon, (4) happens that the good old times, when "l'amour perhaps a poetical Zeluco. (5) du bon vieux temps, l'amour antique" flourished,

(1) Beattie's Letters.

(-2) Qu'on lise dans l'auteur du roman de Gérard de Roussillon, en Provençal, les détails trés-circonstanciés, dans lesquels il entre sur la réception faite par le comte Gérard à l'ambassadeur du roi Charles; on y verra des particularités singulières, qui donnent une étrange idée des mœurs et de la politesse de ces siècles aussi corrompus qu'ignorans."--Mémoires sur l'Ancienne Chevalerie, par M. de la Curne de Sainte-Palaye, Paris, 1781, loc. cit.-E.

LONDON, 1813.

(3) The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement.—[By Messrs. Canning and Frere; first published in the Antijacobin.-E.] (4) In one of his early poems-" Childish Recollections," Lord Byron compares himself to the Athenian misanthrope, of whose bitter apophthegms many are upon record, though no authentic particulars of his life have come down to us :

"Weary of love, of life, devour'd with spleen, I rest a perfect Timon, not nineteen," etc.-E. (8) It was Dr. Moore's object, in this powerful romance (Dow

TO IANTHE. (1)

NOT in those climes where I have late been straying,
Though Beauty long hath there been matchless
deem'd;

Not in those visions to the heart displaying
Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd,
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd:
Nor having seen thee, shall I vainly seek
To paint those charms which varied as they
beam'd-

To such as see thee not my words were weak; To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak?

Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art,
Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring,
As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart,
Love's image upon earth without his wing,
And guileless beyond Hope's imagining!
And surely she who now so fondly rears
Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening,
Beholds the rainbow of her future years,
Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears.
Young Peri (2) of the West!-'t is well for me
My years already doubly number thine;
My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee,
And safely view thyri pening beauties shine;
Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline ;
Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed,
Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign
To those whose admiration shall succeed,
But mix'd with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours
decreed.

Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the gazelle's, (3)
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,
Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells,
Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny
That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh,
Could I to thee be ever more than friend :

To one so young my strain I would commend,
But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend.
Such is thy name with this my verse entwined;
And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast
On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrined
Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last:
My days once number'd, should this homage past
Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre

Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast,
Such is the most my memory may desire;
Though more than Hope can claim, could Friend-
ship less require ?

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

CANTO I.
I.

Он, thou! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth,
Muse! form'd or fabled at the minstrel's will!
Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,
Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill :
Yet there I've wander'd by thy vaunted rill,
Yes! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine, (4)
Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still;
To grace so plain a tale-this lowly lay of mine.
Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine

II.

Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, (5)
Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight;
But spent his days in riot most uncouth,
And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night.
Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;
Few earthly things found favour in his sight
Save concubines and carnal companie,

This much, dear maid! accord; nor question why And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.

unjustly neglected), to trace the fatal effects resulting from a fond sepulchres hewn in and from the rock. "One," said the guide, mother's unconditional compliance with the humours and pas- "of a king who broke his neck hunting." His majesty had cersions of an only child. With high advantages of person, birth,tainly chosen the fittest spot for such an achievement. A little fortune, and ability, Zeluco is represented as miserable, through every scene of life, owing to the spirit of unbridled self-indulgence thus pampered in infancy.-E.

(1) The Lady Charlotte Harley, second daughter of Edward fifth Earl of Oxford (now Lady Charlotte Bacon), in the autumn of 1812, when these lines were addressed to her, had not completed her eleventh year. Mr. Westall's portrait of the juvenile beauty, painted at Lord Byron's request, is engraved in Finden's Illusirations.-E.

(2) Peri, the Persian term for a beautiful intermediate order of beings, is generally supposed to be another form of our own word Fairy.-E.

(3) A species of the antelope. "You have the eyes of a gazelle," is considered all over the East as the greatest compliment that can be paid to a woman.-E.

(4) The little village of Castri stands partly on the site of Delphi. Along the path of the mountain, from Chrysso, are the remains of

above Castri is a cave, supposed the Pythian, of immense depth; the upper part of it is paved, and now a cow-house. On the other side of Castri stands a Greek monastery; some way above which is the cleft in the rock, with a range of caverns difficult of ascent, and apparently leading to the interior of the mountain; probably to the Corycian Cavern, mentioned by Pausanias. From this part descend the fountain and the " Dews of Castalie.”—{“ We were sprinkled," says Mr. Hobhouse, "with the spray of the immortal rill, and here, if any where, should have felt the poetic inspiration: we drank deep, too, of the spring; but-(I can answer for myself)—without feeling sensible of any extraordinary effect."-E.]

(5) According to Mr. Dallas, the poem originally began with this stanza.

"I by no means intend to identify myself with Harold, but to deny all connection with him. If in parts I may be thought to have drawn from myself, believe me it is but in parts, and I shall

III.

Childe Harold was he hight-but whence his
And lineage long, it suits me not to say; [name
Suffice it that, perchance, they were of fame,
And had been glorious in another day :
But one sad losel soils a name for aye,
However mighty in the olden time;

Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay,
Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.
IV.

Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun,
Disporting there like any other fly;
Nor deem'd, before his little day was done,
One blast might chill him into misery.
But long ere scarce a third of his pass'd by,
Worse than adversity the Childe befell;
He felt the fulness of satiety :

Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, Which seem'd to him more lone than eremite's sad cell.

V.

For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run, Nor made atonement when he did amiss, Had sigh'd to many though he loved but one, (1) And that loved one, alas! could ne'er be his. Ah! happy she! to 'scape from him whose kiss Had been pollution unto aught so chaste; Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss, And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his waste, Nor calm domestic peace had ever deign'd to taste. VI.

And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart, And from his fellow bacchanals would flee ; 'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start, But Pride congeal'd the drop within his ee: Apart he stalk'd in joyless reverie, And from his native land resolved to go, And visit scorching climes beyond the sea; With pleasure drugg'd, he almost long'd for woe, And e'en for change of scene would seek the (2) shades below.

VII.

The Childe departed from his fathers' hall ; It was a vast and venerable pile ;

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not own even to that..... I would not be such a fellow as I have precluded this. His household economy, while he remainhave made my hero for the world."

ed at the Abbey, is known to have been conducted on a very

(1) See" Stanzas written to a Lady,"' Tis done-and schive- moderate scale; and, besides, his usual companions, though far ring in the gale, etc.-E.

(2) In these stanzas, and indeed throughout his works, we must not accept too literally Lord Byron's testimony against himself he took a morbid pleasure in darkening every shadow of his self-portraiture. His interior at Newstead had, no doubt, been, in some points, loose and irregular enough; but it certainly never exhibited any thing of the profuse and Sultanic luxury which the language in the text might seem to indicate. In fact, the narrowness of his means at the time the verses refer to would alone

from being averse to convivial indulgences, were not only, as Mr. Moore says, " of habits and tastes too intellectual for mere vulgar debauchery," but, assuredly, quite incapable of playing the parts of flatterers and parasites.-E.

(3) "For some years after the event that had so much influence on my fate (the marriage of Miss Chaworth), I tried to drown the remembrance of it and her in the most depraving dissipation: but the poison was in the cup." —Medwin.

And long had fed his youthful appetite;
His goblets brimm'd with every costly wine,
And all that mote to luxury invite.

Without a sigh he left to cross the brine, [line.(1) And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's central XII.

The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew,
As glad to waft him from his native home;
And fast the white rocks faded from his view,
And soon were lost in circumambiant foam:
And then, it may be, of his wish to roam
Repented he, but in his bosom slept

The silent thought, nor from his lips did come One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept, And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept. XIII.

But when the sun was sinking in the sea

He seized his harp, which he at times could string, And strike, albeit with untaught melody, When deem'd he no strange ear was listening: And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight. While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Thus to the elements he pour'd his last “Good Night." (2)

1.

ADIEU, adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue;

The night-winds sigh, the breakers rcar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.

Yon sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land-Good Night!

2.

A few short hours and he will rise To give the morrow birth; And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my mother earth.

(1) Lord Byron originally intended to visit India.-E.

Deserted is my own good hall,

Its hearth is desolate;

Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; My dog howls at the gate.

3.

"Come hither, hither, my little page! (3)
Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,

Or tremble at the gale?
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;
Our ship is swift and strong:
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along."

4.

'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
I fear not wave nor wind;
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I
Am sorrowful in mind; (4)
For I have from my father gone,
A mother whom I love,
And have no friend, save these alone,
But thee-and one above.

5.

'My father bless'd me fervently,

Yet did not much complain; But sorely will my mother sigh, Till I come back again.' "Enough, enough, my little lad!

Such tears become thine eye;

If 1 thy guileless bosom had,

Mine own would not be dry. (5)

6.

"Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, (6) Why dost thou look so pale?

Or dost thou dread a French foeman!
Or shiver at the gale?"
'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?
Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;

But thinking on an absent wife

Will blanch a faithful cheek.

rent five-and-twenty pounds a-year for the expense of his edu

(2) See" Lerd Maxwell's Good Night, "in Scott's Border Min- cation, for three years, provided I do not return before that time, trelsy, vol. i. p. 297 : —

"Adieu, madame, my mother dear," etc.-E.

(5) This little page" was Robert Rushton, the son of one of Lerd Byron's tenants. "I take Robert with me," says the poet, in a letter to his mother; "I like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless animal."-E.

(4) Seeing that the boy was" sorrowful" at the separation from This parents, Lord Byron, on reaching Gibraltar, sent him back to England under the care of his old servant Murray. "Pray," be says to his mother, "show the lad every kindness, as he has bebaved extremely well, and is a great favourite." He also wrote a letter to the father of the boy, which leaves a most favourable impression of his thought fulness and kindliness. "I have," he says, "sent Robert home, because the country which I am about to travel through is ina state which renders it unsafe, particularly for one so young. I allow you to deduct from your

and I desire he may be considered as in my service."-E.

(5) Here follows, in the original MS -:

"My mother is a high-born dame,
And much misliketh me;

She saith my riot bringeth shame
On all my ancestry:

I had a sister once, I ween,

Whose tears perhaps will flow;
But her fair face I have not seen
For three long years and moe."-E.

(6) William Fletcher, the faithful valet;-who, after a service of twenty years (" during which," he says, "his Lord was more to him than a father"), received the Pilgrim's last words at Missolonghi, and did not quit his remains, until he had seen them deposited in the family vault at Tucknell. This unsophisticated "yeoman was a constant source of pleasantry to his master : -e. 9. "Fletcher," he says, in a letter to his mother," is not

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